


Afflictions and Addictions to a Brilliant Mind

by lockedin221b



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alpha Sherlock, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anal, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Beta Anderson, Confessions, Couch Sex, Deductions, Explicit Sexual Content, Heartache, Knotting, Love Confessions, M/M, Misunderstandings, Omega Verse, Post-Reichenbach, Sexual Content, Sherlock Makes Deductions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-27
Updated: 2013-12-27
Packaged: 2018-01-06 07:34:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1104143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lockedin221b/pseuds/lockedin221b
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>John’s good humour faded. “He needs someone, Julian. Someone who wants him as is, no alterations, in all his glorious tendencies to be a complete and utter bastard. That was me once, but it’ll never be me again."</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Afflictions and Addictions to a Brilliant Mind

**Author's Note:**

> WAS NOT INTENDED TO BE LONG AND HEARTFELT FRICK SO MANY ANDERLOCK FEELS
> 
>  
> 
> ~~back to shit titles woooo~~

The last person Julian expected to find at his door a mere month after Sherlock’s return from the dead was John Watson. He certainly didn’t expect the friendly smile and greeting. For lack of anything else to say or do, Julian invited him in.

“Thought you were off to Mary’s parents’ for the week,” Julian said in as casual a tone as he could muster, especially considering the week away was for John’s heat, his first since Sherlock’s return. Even as a beta, Julian could smell the early stages this close to John.

“I am. We’re leaving in a couple hours.”

“Right.” Julian rubbed the back of his head. “Want to sit?”

John shook his head. “I’ll be quick: Greg and I talked last night.”

“Oh?”

“He told me what happened to you over the last two years.”

Julian slid his hands into his jean pockets and shrugged.

“I’ll be honest, Julian: I’m really, really grateful to Greg for making sure you didn’t tell me.” John put a hand on Julian’s shoulder and gripped it. “I’m also grateful there’s been someone around with more faith in Sherlock than me for the last two years.”

“John.” Julian shrugged the hand away. “No one has more faith in Sherlock than you.”

“That might have been true once, but it’s not anymore, and the sooner everyone realises it the better we’ll all be.” John stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “Do yourself a favour, though.”

Julian grimaced. “What’s that?”

“Tell Sherlock.”

Julian let out a huffy laugh. “He already knows.”

John frowned. “And?”

“And he said it was a good thing no one of importance ever listens to me because I’d have ruined a lot of hard work and countless hours he spent bringing down the world’s most dangerous international criminal network.” Julian gave John a humourless grin, but it dissolved when John chuckled.

“I didn’t mean tell him about that.” He met Julian’s eyes with a piercing gaze eerily reminiscent of Sherlock, if not as cold as Sherlock’s tended to be. “I mean, tell Sherlock how you feel.”

Julian’s expression fell. “What?”

“Greg told me, or at least he certainly made some heavy implications. I can see it for myself now, though.”

“I don’t-”

“Yes, you do. You know you have feelings for Sherlock. It’s no good fooling yourself, and it’s no good trying to hide it. Sherlock’s probably figured it out already anyway.”

Julian scowled. “All the more reason to not say anything.”

John smiled, shaking his head. “You’re wrong. Sherlock doesn’t make first moves, regardless of what he knows or how he feels. Believe me, I know.”

“Drop it,” Julian snapped. “So I have feelings for him, alright? It doesn’t matter. The last person on this planet who’d reciprocate my feelings for them, for so many reasons, is Sherlock.”

“You don’t know that.”

“He hates me, John.”

“Sherlock doesn’t actually hate anyone. Except possibly Mycroft.”

“Fine, he loathes me. He’s disgusted by me.”

“I really don’t think he is,” John insisted with a grin.

“He can’t even look in my direction or hear my name without scoffing about how much of an idiot I am.”

“Everyone’s an idiot to him. Only, the big secret is, he’s the real idiot.”

“I’m a beta!” Julian finally shouted.

John took it calmly and shrugged. “So?”

“What do you mean, ‘so’?”

“Sherlock hates being with omegas.”

“What?”

“He doesn’t like all the pheromones mucking up his mind palace.”

“You—he was with you for almost a year.”

“Only after I drove myself mad convincing him.”

“Convincing him?”

“He was perfectly willing to admit he ‘experienced romantic sentiment toward me.’” John rolled his eyes. “But for a while he refused any of my proposals that we actually do something about it. You know, he’s actual stupidly romantic, in his own weird way. He claimed the psychological and emotional intimacy between an alpha and an omega was immediately reduced when sex became involved because the heightened pheromones of the coupling reduced inhibitions in much the same way alcohol does.”

Julian found he could only stare dumbly.

“Yeah, I had to convince him sex between us wouldn’t invalidate our relationship if it was all agreed upon while we were both of a sober mind. But that was us. You don’t have that hurdle.”

“Why are you pushing this?”

John’s good humour faded. “He needs someone, Julian. Someone who wants him as is, no alterations, in all his glorious tendencies to be a complete and utter bastard. That was me once, but it’ll never be me again. And no, not because of Mary. Sherlock failed me, damaged the trust I had in him beyond repair. I failed him, too, by giving up so easily. Mary doesn’t have to be in the picture for me to know it.” John sighed and rubbed the back of his head. “But he need someone, and he should have someone.”

“Why me? Of all people, why me?”

John gave him a heartfelt smile. “You never stopped believing.”

“What are you talking about? I backed Sally-”

“Yeah, but you never really stopped believing in who he was, did you?”

Julian said nothing.

“Tell him. Either he says yes, or he says no, and either’s got to be better than mooning and moping over him, right?” John winked and let himself out of Julian’s flat.

 

Julian wished he could later claim he had shown more self-restraint, but John had only been gone a few hours when Julian grabbed his coat and left his flat. When he reached 221B Baker Street, Sherlock opened the door and greeted him with mild surprise mixed into his usual indifference.

“I need to talk to you,” Julian said when he didn’t receive so much as a hello.

Sherlock stepped aside to give him entrance. “To what do I owe the displeasure, Anderson?”

Julian went rigid for a moment before turning to face Sherlock. “Do you even know my first name?”

Sherlock closed the door. “I don’t see why it matters, but yes. Julian.”

Despite the tone with which it was said, hearing his own name on Sherlock’s lips was infuriatingly satisfying. “It matters,” he muttered.

“I assume there was another reason for you showing up uninvited?”

“Do you hate me?” Julian blurted out. It was an absurd question to ask, regardless of the answer, and it was certainly not what he had intended to say. He hurried to amend, “For figuring it out, that you weren’t really dead. Do you hate me for it?”

Sherlock’s expression was gradually tilting away from annoyance and toward less adulterated confusion. “No.”

“Because I get the feeling that if someone else had figured it out, John or Greg, you’d be bloody proud of them.”

Sherlock crossed his arms and glowered at Julian. “Firstly, if either John or Greg had been unconvinced of my death, everything would have been for naught. I believe I already explained this to you. Secondly,” he continued, before Julian could respond, “is that what you want? Praise? Good job, Ander—Julian—you’re not the complete imbecile I thought you were?”

“I don’t see why you have to keep treating me like shit.”

Sherlock gave a short, bark of a laugh. “With the exception of Greg, I treat you no differently than anyone else at the Yard.”

“Maybe you ought to,” Julian snapped. He really had no idea what he was saying now. He also had no clear way to backtrack.

“Why?” Sherlock dropped his arms and shrugged. “Why should I treat you special? Because you have an ounce of cleverness in you? Or because you’re under the delusion of a possible romantic attraction?”

Horror snatched Julian’s insides and twisted them violently.

“Did you really think I hadn’t noticed? You’re not the only one in that building who gets a little hard or wet when I walk in the room or onto a scene and start working. Your half-a-boner doesn’t make you different; it only makes you more like the rest of them. You’re not special, Anderson.”

“Yes I am.”

Sherlock’s brow shot up in surprise.

Catching Sherlock off guard, even in that little way, gave Julian something to ground himself in. A strange cool-headedness crept over him. “I care about you. At the end of the day, after you’ve alienated everyone you’ve talked to—old and new—I still give a damn about what happens to you.”

“You care?” Sherlock scoffed. “You don’t even know me.”

“I do. Maybe not everything, but I know more than you think I do. The first case Greg brought you in on, after you spent two months shoving your nose in where it didn’t belong. I was there. I was still junior on the forensics team, but I was there. Greg called you in, and you showed up shot full of opiates. Greg didn’t notice, or didn’t want to notice. I was going to tell him, but then I saw you work. It took me longer, but I followed it all. Every observation, every deduction. I was so entranced, I got yelled at for not doing my job. I couldn’t believe someone could be that clever, that quick, and all under the influence. When I got off work that night, I looked up your address. Your landlord let me in when you didn’t come to the door. Told him I was with the police. I found you sleeping off your high on the sofa, and I left.” Julian watched Sherlock’s expression shift minutely while he talked. He’d never told anyone about looking Sherlock up that day, not even Sally, though he’d told her the rest of it. “The thing is, I get it.”

“You ‘get it’?” Sherlock sneered.

“As much as anyone can without actually being you. I think you’re forgetting that I’m a chemist, just like you. I know what heroin does: it slows you down. I couldn’t believe you were that fast on slow, but you were. The next time I was on a case where you were called in, you were clean, and it was even more amazing to watch you.”

“And the next time you had me kicked out the crime scene,” Sherlock snapped, his cool demeanour quickly dissolving.

“Yes, I did. I was angry.”

“You were jealous.”

“No, I wasn’t. I was furious that you could do that to yourself, over and over. Such a brilliant man killing his brilliant mind. So yeah, I told Greg and got you removed from the crime scene. It was even my idea to threaten you with never helping on another case if you showed up drugged up to another crime scene.”

“Why am I not surprised?”

“I wanted you to stop, and it worked. It bloody worked, didn’t it? You stopped shooting up. You couldn’t always predict when and where Greg would call you up for help, so you had to stay clean. Didn’t you? I have cared about you for so damn long, and the only time you even bother to acknowledge my existence is to call me an idiot. Well guess what, genius, I’ve had one up on you since the start, and you never even noticed. That’s what happen when you waste all your energy putting people down and looking over their heads. News flash: some of us actually do know what we’re doing down here.” Julian was breathing hard, though he hadn’t once shouted or yelled at Sherlock.

Finally, Sherlock squared his shoulders and said, “Quite finished?”

Julian shook his head in disbelief. “If that’s all you’ve got to say, then yeah, I’m finished.” He made for the door, but Sherlock stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

“It’s not all I have to say. Do you know why I treat Greg differently? Why, in sentimental terms, he means more to me than the rest of the Yard?”

“He’s the one who calls you in on cases,” Julian muttered. “Piss him off too much-”

“No. His moral compass is too strong. He’d rather deal with a bastard like me than let people die.” Sherlock smiled wryly. “It’s the same reason I treat John different, and Mrs. Hudson. They care about me, but, more importantly, they don’t try to change me, not in ways that matter. Only now, I’m doubting if Greg cared that early on. You see, for the last eight years, I’ve been under the impression that it was Greg Lestrade who wanted me to ditch my drug habits, and for my sake rather than the morality of it. Now I learn it’s been Julian Anderson all this time.” Sherlock pressed his palm against Julian’s shoulder, turning Julian to face him. “What you’ve just told me, Julian, is that I’ve been misinterpreting your intermittent bouts of anger toward me as jealousy, when in fact it’s concern?”

Julian gave a slow nod. “There’s still some jealousy mixed in there, but yeah, more or less.”

Sherlock sighed. “When I first deduced John, and he said it was brilliant, I was sincerely confused by the lack of sarcasm and absence of insult. It caught me off guard. You see, I’m very good at reading people when I’m not involved in the communicative transactions. When I am—suffice it to say, I’m far more attuned to people’s dislike of me, to their hatred, to their desire that I wasn't different.”

On impulse, Julian covered the hand on his shoulder with his own. “I don’t want you to be different. You’re amazing. Yeah, you can be a real dick, but you’re still amazing, and those parts outweigh the dickish behaviour. Most of the time.” Julian smiled.

Sherlock pulled his hand away, but he did so to press it against Julian’s cheek. “There’s something I’ve wanted to tell you for years, but I didn’t want to deal with you parading it around the Yard and making me regret saying it at all.”

Julian’s heart leapt at Sherlock’s touch. “What?” he said, voice softer than perhaps necessarily.

“You are so clever.”

Julian’s eyes widened.

“There is often a gap between the height of average intellect and where people like Mycroft and Moriarty and myself are. You, however, land in that gap, that rare space where you see what we see, in the same way we see it, only it takes you longer, and years of institutionalised education sometimes overrides your instinctual observations. Only it shouldn’t; always follow that instinct through because, Julian, you are so very, very clever.”

Julian felt light-headed. He barely managed to murmur, “Thank you, Sherlock.”

“Now, unless you have any objection, I’m going to kiss you.”

“No objections.”

Sherlock leant forward, and Julian met him halfway.

He found purchase in Sherlock’s dressing gown, fisting his hands into the fabric and pulling Sherlock close as he kissed him with twice as much enthusiasm as Sherlock initially showed. Sherlock, as always, adapted quickly. He grabbed Julian’s waist with his other hand and tugged him against his own hips.

“Tell me if this is too forward,” Sherlock muttered against Julian’s slightly open mouth, “but I would really like to fuck you right now.”

“It’s incredibly forward, but that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t say yes.” He bit Sherlock’s bottom lip.

Sherlock’s hands dropped from Julian’s waist to his arse. He pulled Julian roughly against him, at the same time giving a shallow thrust of his hips.

Julian dropped Sherlock’s lip from his teeth with a groan. He dropped his head onto Sherlock’s shoulder. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this—wanted you.”

“Even though I’m an alpha?”

“Oh, sod that.”

Sherlock nosed the back of Julian’s neck and inhaled deeply.

Julian’s eyes went wide and he breathed heavily into Sherlock’s dressing gown. “Did you just-”

Sherlock rubbed his nose behind Julian’s ear and inhaled again.

“Are you scenting me?”

“Obviously,” Sherlock murmured, squeezing Julian’s arse tighter.

“Oh my god.” Julian arched his neck to give Sherlock’s roaming nose more room. “I’m a beta, though.”

“Please don’t state the obvious.”

“But what are you scenting?”

“You.” Sherlock pulled his head back and met Julian’s eyes. “You may lack the potent pheromones alphas and omegas have, but you still smell. There is still the distinct scent of you.”

“Are you sure it’s not just my deodorant?” Julian grinned.

Sherlock rolled his eyes before shoving his mouth again Julian’s in a quick, bruising kiss. He began walking backward into the flat, pulling Julian with him. He stopped, both walking and kissing, when he bumped into the coffee table by the sofa. He let go of Julian’s arse and tugged at his jacket.

Julian shrugged it off and pushed at Sherlock’s dressing gown as Sherlock unbuckled Julian’s belt and undid his trousers. Sherlock jerked Julian’s vest free and pulled it and his jumper off together. Before Julian had a chance to reciprocate with Sherlock’s tee, Sherlock had his nose against Julian’s neck, in the hollow of his throat, fingers sliding down below the waistband of his jeans and pants. Julian hung his head back and gasped Sherlock’s name.

Sherlock dipped his tongue into the hollow and licked a wide swath up Julian’s throat, ending in a brief bite under his jaw. He shucked his dressing gown and pulled off his tee, and they each did away with their own trousers and pants.

Julian swallowed hard and rested his hands on Sherlock’s bony hips.

Sherlock rubbed his palm down Julian’s chest. “You’ve never been with an alpha.”

“N-”

Sherlock pressed his fingers against Julian’s lips. He pulled Julian’s hands away and turned him toward the sofa, easing him down onto his back, Sherlock on top of him. Sherlock closed his eyes and scented him under his jaw, over the mark he had left a moment ago. His hands ran down Julian’s sides and hips and thighs. “You’ve never had someone inside you.” He moved to Julian’s shoulder, nudging his nose under his arm. Julian lifted his arms over his head to grant Sherlock access. Sherlock’s next inhalation, nose buried in Julian’s armpit, was followed by a shuddered exhale. “You want me inside you.”

Julian nodded, even though Sherlock wasn’t looking.

“I can feel your legs spreading. You haven’t even noticed.”

Julian hadn’t; his coherent thought, what there was of it, was acutely on Sherlock’s nose as it went from spot to spot on his torso, never leaving one without scenting it, and sometimes marking it.

“You want me to touch you, to take you. You’ve never wanted this before. This is all so new to you.”

Julian breathed in sharply with realisation: Sherlock was deducing him, deducing his body, his experience—or lack of. The sudden knowledge sent a pleasant shiver up his spine and warmth into his groin.

“Look at you, reacting so easily. Like you’ve never been touched before.” Sherlock slid down on the sofa and lower on Julian, scenting his navel his thigh, his groin. He pressed his nose deepest into the space between Julian’s thigh and his cock. “You want me, so much it aches.” Sherlock raised his head and frowned at Julian. “Why?”

Julian released a breathy laugh. “You’re you.”

Sherlock’s expression softened. Then, quite abruptly, he announced, “We need lube. And a condom.”

Julian dropped his head on the arm of the sofa and stared at the ceiling. “Please tell me you have them.”

“Bedroom.” He leaned over Julian and kissed him. “Don’t move.”

“We could-”

“Don’t. Move.”

Julian smirked and watched Sherlock walk out of the room. Sherlock wasn’t gone long, but it was long enough for Julian’s head to sort itself a bit, to review the events of the last several minutes, to really appreciate what was happening—what was about to happen. His breath hitched in his throat when Sherlock re-entered the room.

Sherlock dropped the foil packet on the coffee table and slipped back between Julian’s legs, which he very knowingly spread this time. Sherlock pulled Julian toward him until his head fell from the armrest to the seat cushion. “Trust me, it would’ve been a lot less comfortable that way.”

“I trust you,” Julian replied quietly. His tone wasn’t missed, and Sherlock stroked the underside of his thigh before moving on.

Sherlock coated two of his long fingers and set the bottle of lube next to the condom. He first ran his dry thumb from the back of Julian’s scrotum to his hole.

Julian kept his breathing mostly even.

“You’ve fingered yourself before,” Sherlock murmured, resuming his deductions. He pressed a slick finger against the hole, rubbing circles until the muscles relaxed to his touch. “Fantasizing about me? No. No? Maybe I should feel offended. Then again, that’s why this is different, why you’re different—it’s rarely been sexual, your sentiment toward me. Sometimes, but nothing a quick wank wouldn’t have solved. No need to fantasize crisp details about sexual rendezvous.” Sherlock smirked, and Julian grinned back, even as Sherlock pushed the tip of his finger inside him. “Good to know I’ve at least merited those, though.” While he slowly fingered Julian with one hand, he rested his other on Julian’s thigh, trailing his fingers lightly up and down his skin. “So you’ve never really fantasized about being taken, but you have fingered yourself.” His finger sank in past the first joint. “Then again, you are a man of science. You had to take your share of anatomy studies. You’re not a shy man when it comes to self-pleasuring.” He was nearly at the knuckle, and the pad of his finger brushed Julian’s prostate.

Julian’s body betrayed him, tensing at the brief jolt of pleasure.

Sherlock brushed it again, this time intentionally, and elicited a similar reaction. “There we are then.” Now that his entire finger was in, he began the stretch. “There’s a very important decision you have to make.”

“Oh?” Julian did his best to keep a nonchalant tone. He wasn’t successful, and Sherlock chuckled.

“Yes. It doesn’t have to be this second, but you need to tell me whether or not you want me to knot you.”

Julian wetted his lips. “I’m not an omega, so knotting me would mean taking longer to stretch, and potentially painful even if we do take our time. You probably have enough length past your knot to hit my prostate without knotting me. It would be with less force, though. It would also probably mean a longer time fucking me, and not necessarily in a good way. From what I’ve heard, not knotting can be frustrating for an alpha.”

“And knotting a beta man can be harmful.”

“If we do it right-”

“Even if we do it right. I could spend an hour stretching you, use half a bottle of lube, and still risk injuring you.”

“You do care,” Julian teased.

Sherlock gave him a sharp look.

“You’ve knotted beta men before,” Julian said, making it a statement rather than question. “You’ve knotted beta men before, so you know what you’re doing. If you have ever hurt one in knotting him, it wasn’t serious, and it was long enough ago that your concern isn’t panicky. It might even be legitimately chalked up to inexperience, maybe even youth.”

Sherlock rewarded his observations with a stroke against his prostate.

After Julian caught his breath, he said, “So take your time, use an excess of lube, and knot me.” Julian caught the slightest hitch in Sherlock’s breathing and felt quite satisfied with himself.

“Your turn.”

“For?”

“My experience—what is it?”

Julian grimaced. “No.”

“Why n- Oh.” Sherlock pulled his finger out, but only so he could begin working two in together. “Another time.”

“When it’s not so close.”

Sherlock nodded.

“You like my beard, though.”

“Do I?” Sherlock smiled.

“You near took a razor to John’s moustache, and you haven’t even commented on my beard. You have a tendency to comment on your dislikes more than your likes. Ergo, you like my beard.”

“It needs a trim.”

Julian chuckled. “I’ll get on that.”

“Not until I’ve gotten on you.”

“Good god. For a genius, you’ve got one hell of a mouth on you.”

“You’ve no idea. Wait until I give you a blowjob.”

“Christ.” Julian closed his eyes, and a quiet settled around them. London still lived and breathed outside, but it was the same white noise as ever. “I love your fingers,” he murmured.

“Only because they’re inside you.”

“No, I’ve always loved them. The way they move. I was always jealous when John or Greg or Molly talked about you playing the violin. I really want to watch you play.”

“I’ll hold a private concert then.”

Julian smiled.

A little while later, Sherlock pulled his fingers out.

Julian actually felt empty, like he was missing something, and he yearned for Sherlock to be inside him—any part of him, fingers or cock. “Ready?”

“As ready as we can be.” Sherlock picked up the condom and lube from the coffee table. He rolled on the former, and coated himself with the latter. “I’m going to go as slow as I can, but once the knot starts-”

“I know. Textbook anatomy.” Julian took a deep breath. “Alright.”

Before Sherlock penetrated him, though, he leaned over and kissed him. It was nearly chaste, except for the tongue that brushed against his lips.

Julian pulled his thighs back with his hands under his knees. It was futile to keep his breathing slow at that point, so he at least endeavoured to keep it steady.

Sherlock pushed into him centimetre by centimetre, pausing each time Julian’s body seized until it relaxed again. By the time he was all the way in, Julian was painting, wet with perspiration, his cock hard and aching. Sherlock waited until Julian’s body settled around Sherlock’s cock. “Ready?”

Julian nodded. He didn’t trust his voice.

Sherlock’s first couple thrusts were, as expected, long and slow.

Julian’s entire body was raging with heat and want. For a moment, he worried Sherlock had stretched him far too much, that he was far too loose, that, despite the pressure against his prostate and the new sensation of having a cock inside him, a vague feeling of not-quite-full was going to stay with him throughout.

“Here it comes,” Sherlock warned, going still with his entire cock once again buried to the hilt inside Julian.

Julian’s concerns were for naught. He gasped as Sherlock knotted inside him, the engorged flesh pushing against every internal wall. He dug his fingers into his own thighs, a high whine loosing itself from his throat.

“Julian?” Sherlock rubbed his palm soothingly up Julian’s torso. “Breathe.”

Julian breathed. “Oh my god.”

“Painful?”

“N- a little. N-nothing unexpected.”

“We’ll give it a moment.” Sherlock pried Julian’s hands from his own thighs and locked their fingers together. He gave Julian’s hands a squeeze.

It seemed far longer than it had to have been for Julian to find a reasonable lungful of air. Once he did, he squeezed back on Sherlock’s hands. “Wow.”

Sherlock smiled. “Good ‘wow’?”

“So far.”

Sherlock gave a little rock of his hips. It felt as if he was filling Julian more, even though he was fully knotted, and his cock bumped against Julian’s prostate.

Julian yelped. “Yes. Good ‘wow’, definitely a good ‘wow’.”

Sherlock pulled his hands away so he could take hold of Julian’s hips. He gave another small thrust, and he followed it up with a second, a third, and on.

Julian’s gasps became groans, and he reached one hand over his head to grip the arm of the sofa. He took hold of his cock with the other, trying and failing to keep time with Sherlock’s quickening thrusts.

Sherlock covered Julian’s hand and steadied his strokes. “You’re going to come soon,” Sherlock whispered, barely audible above the slapping of skin against skin. “You’re going to come with me inside you, knotted inside you, filling you, pleasuring you like you’ve never experienced before. And you know why, don’t you? Why I’m doing this to you, giving you this. It’s because you’re special, Julian. So clever and different and special. Are you ready to come?”

“Please,” Julian moaned.

“Do you know the best part of having an alpha knot you, Julian?”

“Sherlock!”

“Sh, trust me. You’ll want to hear this.”

“Hurry,” Julian whined.

“It’s the prostate. Omegas and beta women don’t have one, obviously. But the knot is really perfect for anal penetration on those who do. Can’t you feel it? Half my cock is buried in you past your prostate. But my knot—feel it. Pressing perfectly into your prostate, so every—time—I—thrust—you—feel—full.” Sherlock tightened his hand around Julian’s on his own cock. “Alright, Julian: come.” He stroked Julian firm and fast, synchronised with each successive thrust.

Julian came with a cry, and, as his arse tightened around Sherlock’s cock, Sherlock’s thrusts became radically shallower and faster. He took his hand away from Julian’s and—reached behind himself. Hardly skipping a beat, he began fingering himself. Julian watched, absurdly aroused, as Sherlock brought himself off. Julian moaned at the new, though fleeting, pressure against his worn out prostate.

Sherlock eased Julian’s legs down and laid on top of him. He nuzzled into Julian’s neck with a long inhale.

Julian brought the hand above his head down and stroked Sherlock’s curls. “You’re kind of a slut, aren’t you?” he murmured.

He felt Sherlock smile against his neck. “When the mood strikes.”

“Sherlock?”

Sherlock lifted his face to Julian’s. “Hm?”

Whatever Julian was going to say quickly left his mind. Instead, he smiled and pulled Sherlock down into a deep kiss.


End file.
